At least they have proper swords, even if each lesson Dev gives them is the one I’ve just finished drilling into him.
‘Hold on to something,’ Shaiam advised before shouting down to the rowing master, ‘Turn and beach us!’ The piper sounded a shrill note and every blade rose clear of the water. Kheda held tightly on to the back of the shipmaster’s chair as Yere hauled on his steering oars to twist the Mist Dove’s stern to the land. Below, the rowers lifted their feet and spun around on their seats, each man now facing the prow. Turning almost inside its own length, the Mist Dove wallowed for a moment before the rowers dug their first stroke deep with a guttural shout. The oars crashed into the water and the galley surged stern-first for the shore.
Dev threw the ladders down over the stern while the timbers were still reverberating with the impact. Aysi and his men came running along the side decks, the archers scanning the shore, arrows nocked and ready. Below, the innermost ranks of rowers abandoned their sweeps to their neighbours as the sail crew handed out the weapons the ship carried in lieu of a full contingent of warriors. Kheda pulled on mail-backed gloves and steadied his swords as he made ready to drop over the stern.
‘Running like rats.’ Dev observed the commotion ashore with contempt.
‘A cornered rat can still take your finger off’ Kheda watched the men and women on the beach scattering. A few were running to the huts just visible in the trees. More were retreating towards the three ships they had beached, drawing swords of their own. Some had clambered aboard the vessels, throwing aside the concealing knot-tree branches with frantic haste.
‘They won’t get them afloat, not with the tide as it is,’ Dev said with cruel amusement before sliding lithely down a rope ladder.
‘If they do, Hesi will catch them.’ Kheda glanced over his shoulder to see the distinctive silhouette of the
Yellow Serpent approaching. He settled his helm firmly on his head and drew the chain-mail veil around his neck and throat, snapping the clasp below his chin. Sliding the ornate face plate down the nasal bar, he locked it in place. But as he climbed down the ladder, he realised he was lacking the metal-plated leggings that should complete his armour.
You still have a lot to learn about being a decent body slave, Dev. Telouet would never have let me on to a hostile shore with bare knees.
He had no chance to do anything about it. The trireme’s swordsmen were pressing close behind him, drawing their blades in a flurry of flashing sunlight as they splashed through the shallows. ‘If they yield, take them prisoner.’ Kheda’s words rang out across the beach for the benefit of these unknown newcomers as well as Aysi’s warriors. ‘If they fight, kill them. This is Chazen land and my writ runs here.’ His voice was harsh behind the steely lattice of his visor.
At the centre of the ragged line of armoured men, Kheda led a slow advance across the damp, muddy ground. The youth Ridu raised a cry of ‘Chazen!’ and the oarsmen backing the swordsmen picked it up, every repetition gathering menace.
The unknown men and women drew back till they had their boats at their backs, swords thrust forward. All Kheda could see was ugly defiance. Men and women alike, all were young, their feet planted firmly on this ground they had claimed and brandishing swords with more ferocity than skill. A couple wore chain mail and a handful more had somehow scrounged the coats of nail-studded leather that were customarily a village spokesman’s privilege. The rest were relying on hastily sewn jerkins of turtle hide or sharkskin.
The Chazen line advanced to within twenty paces of the beached boats. With an inarticulate roar the enemy rushed forward, wild strokes cleaving the air until Chazen blades met them with a grating clash of steel.
Kheda’s vision shrank to the foe before him, anything to either side a blur. His opponent thrust desperately, a last instant of hesitation robbing his sword of any real strength. Kheda parried easily before turning his stroke into a backhanded slash to bite deep into the man’s upper ann. With skills honed since his earliest youth, he swept up his off-hand sword to run the man clean through just below his ribcage.
Not so low as to strike a hip. Not so deep into the body as to risk binding on the backbone.
Kheda ripped his sword free of the dying man and took an instant to assess the combat on either side. Dev was more than holding his own, even if his strokes owed more to natural viciousness than real skill. A rower to Kheda’s open side was not doing so well, already bleeding from a ragged slash to his thigh. Kheda moved to shield the man with his armoured body and a killing stroke came down to rasp impotently along the warlord’s mail-clad arm as Kheda forced the rusty sword aside.
Kheda brought his second blade round at waist height to disembowel this new adversary but the man leapt backwards in the nick of time. Even as he shied away, the man twisted his own sword into a brutal thrust at Kheda’s face. The warlord couldn’t help but flinch, knocking the blade away with an instinctive blow. The nameless adversary followed up his advantage, sword spiralling down to hack at Kheda’s unprotected legs. Kheda dropped instantly to one knee, awns rising as he did so. The solid steel side plate of his hauberk met the enemy’s notched blade as Kheda’s leading sword swept up and across to cut the man’s hand off at the wrist. The spray of blood had barely reached the warlord before his second blade bit deep into the man’s thigh. Springing to his feet, Kheda ripped the blade backwards and bright heart’s blood soaked the man’s grubby cotton trews. As he cried out, he locked gazes with Kheda for a timeless instant.
You’ve been in battle before. You’ve a deftness in your swordplay that speaks of decent training. And you ‘ve seen enough blood to know that you ‘re dying.
As the man let his sword ann fall, unprotesting, Kheda put all his strength into a backhanded scything stroke. The man’s severed head flew a few paces sideways to startle another foe rushing in to attack Dev. The man stumbled and Dev was on him, running him through the breast. The wizard’s enthusiasm betrayed him and he found himself struggling to extricate his sword from the clinging embrace of the dead man’s ribs.
Kheda saw a youth lift his sword in a shaking hand to thrust at Dev’s face. The warlord shoved Dev aside and stepped forward to sweep the stained and notched blade away before bringing the youth down with a sharp slice to the side of his leg. The lad fell to the trampled and bloodied ground, clutching the crippling wound to his knee, his shrieks lost in the all-encircling clamour.
As Dev finally ripped his sword free, Kheda heard a new sound shoot across the tumult. Getting Dev’s atten—
tion with an emphatic elbow, he jerked his head backwards and the two of them retreated from the thick of the fight, the Mist Dove’s eager rowers closing up the gap they had left.
A second hiss of arrows flew across the beach and Kheda looked to see Tawai and his archers up on the Mist Dove’s side decks sending a rain of arrows soaring towards the village. Aysi and a handful of his swordsmen were advancing towards the huts. As the cascade of shafts ceased, Aysi broke into a run, the others hard on his heels.
‘After them!’ Kheda ran inland, Dev at his side, his breath rasping within the confines of his helmet. Sweat soaked the padded cotton beneath his armour, hot between his shoulder blades and trickling down the hollow of his spine to disappear into the cleft of his buttocks. His shoulders protested at the unrelenting weight of his armour and his thighs burned with the effort of running up the incline towards the sorry huts. When they arrived, no enemy was still standing. Several were dead with arrows ripped through their bodies or dying of mortal sword wounds. Two were face down in the dirt with a Chazen foot on their necks to make sure they stayed that way.